


we'll make it out alive

by knoxoursavior



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 17:12:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17349254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knoxoursavior/pseuds/knoxoursavior
Summary: Sing can't say no to Eiji.





	we'll make it out alive

**Author's Note:**

> written for day 3 of BF Angst Week! the prompt i chose was tears and i really wanted to write a character kissing another character's tears away :(

Sing can’t say no to Eiji.

Not when Eiji asks him to stay, not when Eiji asks him to call if he’s coming home late, not when Eiji asks him to help out with cooking dinner.

Not even when Eiji asks Sing to fuck him.

Sing shouldn’t, because it isn’t right, because it isn’t healthy, because Eiji doesn’t really want  _ him _ . Sing shouldn’t, because he wants to so badly, wants to say yes, wants to hold Eiji in his arms and give him the temporary comfort that he’s aching for.

He  _ shouldn’t _ , and yet here he is with his clothes off and Eiji shaking underneath him.

Sing’s lips are bitten red, his chest heavy with words that he has to work at not letting slip. He keeps himself to grunts, to moans, and if he has to speak, it’s only Eiji’s name that rolls off his tongue. Sing doesn’t think about how Eiji keeps his face turned away from him, how Eiji never utters his name, how Eiji holds onto the sheets, the headboard, holds onto anything but Sing.

Sing doesn’t think about any of that. Instead, he focuses on Eiji underneath him, focuses on the sweat on Eiji’s brow, the flush of his cheeks, the set of his mouth as he tries to stop the sounds that crawl out of his mouth anyway. Sing focuses on Eiji, clamping down around his cock, back arching, thighs tightening around Sing’s waist.

“Faster,” Eiji urges, and Sing complies.

“Harder,” Eiji tells him, and Sing listens.

It’s not so bad. Sing gets to look at Eiji at least, gets to give him what he wants, gets to comfort him in one of the few ways he’ll allow. This isn’t wrong.

Probably.

Maybe. 

It gets a little more complicated when Eiji crosses the line that he’s drawn between him and Sing, when Eiji loses himself, when Eiji  _ forgets _ . When Eiji looks at him, but it doesn’t really feel like Eiji is seeing  _ him _ . When Eiji’s lips part to let loose a string of desperate words, but it doesn’t really feel like Eiji is talking to  _ him.  _ When Eiji reaches out to touch him, it doesn’t really feel like Eiji is holding onto  _ him _ .

But Sing takes it all in stride. He breathes against the crook of Eiji’s neck, presses kisses onto Eiji’s burning skin. He lets the balls of Eiji’s feet on the small of his back guide him, rocks his hips into Eiji according to Eiji’s rhythm. He listens to Eiji’s voice, parses the soft whispers of a name that isn’t his, tries his very best not to let it get to him.

He does what Eiji asked him to. He fucks Eiji fast and hard, fucks out as much of Eiji’s pain and frustration as he can.

Sing fucks Eiji until he cries.

Eiji’s tears aren’t for him or because of him, but Sing claims them for himself anyway. Just like he’s claimed responsibility for Eiji’s safety and Eiji’s pain, for Eiji’s happiness, he takes the sight of Eiji’s tears and listens to the beat of his heart, that voice in his head that tells him,  _ comfort him, protect him, it’s your fault, your burden to bear— _

Sing presses his lips against Eiji’s neck, leaves a trail of soft, lingering kisses as he follows Eiji’s pulse up, up, up, until Sing’s lips touch wet skin, until he’s kissing away the tears that have fallen down Eiji’s cheeks. Eiji’s tears taste like loss, like grief, like the pain that has not,  _ will not _ subside. Even then, Sing kisses them away.

This is the least he can do. This is what Eiji deserves.

He doesn’t let Eiji’s pain go unacknowledged. He claims for himself every tear and thinks,  _ ah,  _ thinks,  _ if this is all Eiji can do to process his pain, to let it out, then I’ll be here to help him through it. _ He kisses away Eiji’s tears and he thinks,  _ no matter how long it takes, I’ll be here. _

Eiji sobs as he comes, and Sing claims that for himself too.

_ I’m sorry _ , he wants to say, to whisper into Eiji’s lips.  _ I’m sorry I can’t do anything more than this. I’m sorry this is all I can do for you _ .

But the words remain in his chest where they’ll stay until they rot. Until they turn into poison. Until they finally kill Sing from the inside. Hopefully, Eiji will be alright by the time that happens.

Sing pulls out of Eiji, still hard, pulls away even when Eiji reaches out because he sees Eiji’s hesitation, registers the beat that passes in between Eiji’s eyes focusing on him and his hand jerking towards Sing. Sing has given Eiji what he wanted, but Sing has no reason to ask Eiji to reciprocate.

Eiji doesn’t have guilt weighing heavy on his heart after all. Grief, yes. Pain, definitely. But guilt is Sing’s problem, his monster that waits for him in the dark. Eiji doesn’t owe Sing anything, least of all this.

“It’s fine,” he says. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

Sing climbs out of Eiji’s bed, doesn’t bother getting dressed. He just picks up all of his clothes, thrown haphazardly all over the floor, picks up the pieces of his heart that he’s let fall from his chest, picks them up so he can glue them back into the whole later— _ just another day, another week, another month, another year, this will be enough _ .

“Are you sure?” Eiji asks, but Sing can hear the bed creaking, doesn’t have to look to know that Eiji’s already curling up, already settling into his bed, already relaxing now that he’s alone in it.

Sing can’t bring himself to speak, scared that something else will come out other than what he thinks Eiji wants to hear. Instead, he hums his reply.

Instead, he walks away.

When he’s at the door, Eiji says, “Good night, Sing.”

Sing is tired. Sing wants to curl up in his own room, wants to scream into his pillow, wants—

He wants to turn around and climb back into Eiji’s bed.

“Good night, Eiji,” Sing says.

  
  
  


Sing doesn’t get to finish himself off.

Instead, he puts on his underwear and his shirt, wraps himself up in his blanket.

Instead, he curls up into a ball, his head between his knees.

Instead, he cries and cries until he tires himself out, until he falls asleep alone, lonely.

No one takes his tears. No one acknowledges his pain. No one cares.

Sing is used to it.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/singeiji) :~)


End file.
